Parallax
by victoria p
Summary: Everyone sees things from a different angle... One scene, eight points of view


Parallax

**Parallax  
**by [Victoria P.][1]

Rating: PG-13 - language  
  
Summary: Everyone sees things from a different angle...  
  
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete.   
  
Dedication: To jenn, for the plot bunny. Hope it satisfies.

{ } indicates POV

***** 

**Parallax**

Main Entry: **par·al·lax**  
Pronunciation: 'par-&-"laks  
Function: noun  
Etymology: Middle French parallaxe, from Greek _parallaxis_, from _parallassein_ to change, from _para-_ + _allassein _to change, from _allos_ other  
Date: 1580  
: the apparent displacement or the difference in apparent direction of an object as seen from two different points not on a straight line with the object; especially : the angular difference in direction of a celestial body as measured from two points on the earth's orbit 

*****

**{Rogue}**

I lay there, thinking how wonderful it was to be warm. It had been so long since I'd been warm, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

I knew I'd made the right choice when I climbed into Wolverine's -- no, Logan's -- trailer. I figured things had to get better, right? And, sure enough, they did. 

Okay, we were attacked by that huge furry guy, and then I was almost incinerated, but I think everything worked out all right. Logan was fine; I was fine. We were all good. I remember thinking, I can go to school here, and I can make friends.

That boy Bobby is a cutie, and the fireball kid, John, isn't bad either. Kitty and the other girl -- Jubilee -- had been pretty nice to me, too. I hope that doesn't change.

But still, it was weird, sleeping in a nice, clean bed -- I could smell the detergent on the sheets, and it reminded me of home. I felt like I was going to cry, and I really didn't want to do that. Even after eight months on the road, stupid things like the smell of laundry detergent could make me want to run home, even though I knew I wasn't welcome there anymore.

And I couldn't sleep, either. Part of me didn't want to. Every time I closed my eyes, I was afraid I'd wake up and it would all be a dream, and I'd still be stuck with those truckers who'd tried to --

Then I heard it.

Logan. He was grunting. He didn't sound so good.

I got up and followed the noise down the hall to the room they'd put him in. I made sure I knew which one it was. I didn't know him much better than I knew anyone else here, but I felt safer with him nearby. I knew what he could do, and I was pretty sure he'd protect me if I was attacked.

I didn't even think to put gloves on. I just snuck into his room, and there he was. God, he's gorgeous. But he wasn't sleeping well -- he was thrashing and mumbling, and I could tell he was having a nightmare.

You're not supposed to wake someone who's having a nightmare, I thought, but then I remembered that was sleepwalkers. My momma had always woken me from my bad dreams; I figured it was the least I could do for Logan. His chest was bare, though, and so were my hands.

As much as I wanted to touch him -- and oh, God, did I ever (and how sad am I that I could think those things when he was obviously in pain?) -- I couldn't.

I called his name softly, hoping he'd recognize my voice.

He woke up suddenly, and his fist came flying towards me. He let out a roar, and those claws extended -- I felt something cold slide through me and I gasped.

I didn't even feel the pain at first -- like when you cut yourself shaving, and you only feel the sting when the soap gets into the cut? That's what it felt like at first. Then I couldn't breathe -- I tried, but I just couldn't get enough air.

He was aghast at what he'd done. I saw the look in his eyes -- fear, shame, horror. 

So many things whirled through my brain at that moment: That I hadn't gotten to see Alaska, though I'd gotten pretty damn close for a girl from Mississippi with untouchable skin, who'd left home with nothing more than a duffel full of clothing and three hundred and twenty four dollars and eleven cents. 

That maybe, just maybe, I could touch him and my skin wouldn't kick in -- that just before I died, I would be able to feel someone else's skin against my own one last time.

And then I thought of his healing thing -- the way his wounds closed up mere seconds after they appeared.

So, I touched him. It was amazing -- this rush of power -- I could *feel* my wounds closing, feel the blood pumping in my veins. I could smell the fear -- mine and his, our scents mingling. I could hear every gasp and indrawn breath, all their hearts racing as they stared at us in shock. It was like nails on a chalkboard to my suddenly sensitive ears.

I never felt more alive -- or more scared -- in my life. Everything was so vivid, so real. If that's what Logan's life is like all the time, I think I can understand him better than most people.

I let go as soon as I could breathe easily again. By that point, they were all in the hallway, and Jean and Scott were taking care of Logan. 

"It was an accident," I pleaded, when I turned to face all those accusing eyes.

Their silence was more condemning than any words could ever be. The other kids parted like the Red Sea to let me through. I raced back to my room to think about what I'd done. I'd almost killed the man who saved my life. Of course, he'd almost killed me first.

I didn't plan it, but the urge to survive is way more powerful than you can ever imagine. You don't know what it's like until you're face-to-face with death and you actually have a choice.

It wasn't even conscious on my part. I hope he knows that. I swear, I really hope he knows I would never hurt him. I think he does. I can feel him in my head pretty good, and he's just appalled at what happened, and happy he was able to save me.

So, yeah, everything isn't exactly hunky-dory, but I think it's going to be okay. I'm going to see him in the morning -- I know he'll wake up. He just has to. He can't -- I can't even think about it if he doesn't.

**{Jean}**

"Scott, grab a pillow!" I said, crouching beside the fallen Wolverine. Who would have thought that the fragile waif who called herself Rogue would be able to do this to him? He seemed so vital, almost invulnerable earlier this evening, when I showed him this room. The way he flirted with me -- he feared no one and nothing. I guess with his healing factor, he doesn't need to. But a single touch from Rogue had incapacitated him.

Amazing.

I'm really going to have to study that girl's mutation.

Scott and I had been in bed, and I was just contemplating how to show him I *wasn't* interested in the handsome stranger sleeping down the hall, when I felt it.

Fear, loathing, pain -- all coming from Logan's room.

"Scott, something's wrong."

"What is it?" He was alert immediately, though I know he'd been drowsing warmly a moment before.

"Logan -- something's happening to him."

He jumped out of bed, muttering, and I followed. As we neared the room, I could sense Rogue's presence -- and again, fear, loathing and pain, so strong it almost knocked me out. You know, I'm not that powerful a telepath, but I think even the psi-deaf could pick up on the feelings emanating from that room.

"Help! Somebody! Help me!"

I reached out with my mind. ~Professor, we have a situation.~ It was easier to show him than to form the words.

What was she doing to him? I could see the skin on her back healing before my eyes as her fingers gently brushed his cheek. He had killed her. She was killing him. Yet they were both alive.

She let go, and he fell to the floor. 

"It was an accident," she said, and I could sense the truth of her words, but I wondered *why* exactly she was in his room at all. I refused to believe that Scott was right about him.

I had looked into this man's head -- he was *not* the type of man to use a young girl if she didn't want to be used. 

The question was, did she? The answer was pretty obvious, since she was in his room in the middle of the night, in her chaste and yet oddly sexy nightgown. So, the real question was, would he take advantage of her? I wanted to think not, but then, I always try to think the best of people. Scott usually thinks the worst. That could be why we're such a good fit.

All the while, I'm on autopilot, checking Logan's vitals, using my telekinesis, with some help from Scott's good old-fashioned brute strength, to lift him back onto his bed. I did a superficial telepathic scan of Logan while I worked on him, checking to make sure there was no brain damage. What I saw confirmed Rogue's words. It had been an accident -- she'd startled him awake, and he'd reacted instinctively.

Storm corralled the children and sent them back to bed, reassuring them that everything was going to be all right.

And it will be. He's healing already; she could have killed him, but she didn't. She let go.

I'm glad, not only because it means she has some sense of morality, but because she already seems damaged by her mutation. I don't think she could handle the trauma a death at her hands would produce. Especially the death of the man who saved her.

And I don't think he, already scarred by what was done to him, could handle knowing he forced her into something so drastic by his own instinctive actions.

They're both going to live. It'll be a while longer before I can say they'll both be fine.

**{Scott}**

I knew he was going to be trouble the minute I laid eyes on him. I mean, why else would a guy like him have a girl like her in his camper?

And she wasn't the type. I know. I've seen them -- I was on the street for more than a year before Professor Xavier found me. I know what girls like her become when they're used by men like him.

It hadn't happened to her yet, and it damn well wasn't going to under my roof.

You may think I'm crazy. You think he wants Jean, and a young girl like Rogue couldn't attract his attention, but you're wrong. She's got that air of innocence and frailty that attracts men of all sorts, for all sorts of reasons. I'm not saying he *doesn't* want Jean, just that wanting one woman doesn't mean he doesn't want the other, as well.

So, of course, he flirted with Jean. That's all right. Every guy that crosses her path tries to make time with her. But she chose me, and I'm secure in that. You don't have to believe it, but it's true.

That's not to say I didn't enjoy messing with him a little, because I could tell he didn't like me any more than I liked him.

But the girl, Rogue -- she's not like him. She's not like the others, either. She has no control, and no hope for a cure. Perhaps, a few years down the line, Hank and the Professor will figure something out for her, like they came up with my visor for me. Until then, though, she'll try to hold herself apart, even though we'll tell her she doesn't have to. Jean will say I'm projecting, that simply because that was my experience doesn't mean it's going to be Rogue's, but I know what I'm talking about. I've known the girl all of a day, and I already know she's a lot like me. 

Which means she shouldn't be interested in the gruff stranger who came here with her. I know why he's interested in her, and like I said, that wasn't going to happen on my watch.

Anyway, I was lying in bed, in that space between sleeping and waking, wondering if Jean would take it as a sign of "macho posturing" if I initiated sex, when she said, "Scott, something's wrong."

I jumped up. "What is it?" I can go from dead sleep to wide-awake in less time than it takes me to ask that question. Another remnant of my time on the street. Jean doesn't understand -- she didn't have it easy, but she did have it relatively safe before she came here.

"Logan -- something's happening to him."

"Son of a bitch," I muttered as we raced down the hallway. Jean shot me a look, but said nothing.

I flicked the light on as we rushed into the room.

We got there just in time to see Rogue -- in this strangely sexy nightgown that made her look like the angel of temptation -- touching a nearly naked Logan. 

It was obvious what had happened. I may think the guy's a skank, but I don't think he'd deliberately kill Rogue. She must have startled him while they were -- whatever they were doing. I also don't think he'd force himself on her -- but I doubt he'd say no if she offered, and she was the type who'd feel she had to offer, because he saved her.

That's definitely something I'm going to talk to the Professor about. If -- and that's a big if -- if he offers this guy a place here, we're going to have to have very strict rules about his behavior with the students. We have a lot of young girls here, and this isn't going to be the Wolverine's harem.

Rogue's injuries closed up completely, as if the whole thing had never happened. She let go, and Logan fell to the floor.

"It was an accident," Rogue said softly, before rushing from the room. The kids moved out of her way as if she were highly contagious and touching her meant death. Well, I guess touching her does mean death, but still, after this is all sorted out, I'm going to have to talk with them, and make them understand that she's not to be treated any differently than anyone else. We've all had accidents with our gifts, and hers is an especially difficult one to be burdened with.

I was already planning the speech as I handed Jean the pillow she called for and helped her move him onto the bed.

Storm handled the children.

When we were back in our room, I opened my mouth and Jean said, "Don't. Just don't say, 'I told you so.'"

"I wasn't going to," I said quickly, though that's exactly what I was going to say. "Just -- he's dangerous and he doesn't belong here, Jean. What the hell was she doing in his room this late at night?"

"She's dangerous, too, Scott. And it looked to me like she'd gone there willingly."

I sighed. "She's young and hurting. He's -- he can take care of himself, Jean. He doesn't need us."

"No," she said, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, "but Rogue may need him. And he may need to see that she's all right. I don't think either of them will forget what happened tonight, Scott."

As if any of us could.

**{Ororo}**

I was woken by Charles's call. 

~We have a situation,~ he said, and the images were of Jean and Scott rushing to Logan's room.

I got there a few moments after they did. Having the "penthouse suite" means I'm sometimes a little removed from events in the rest of the mansion, especially when they occur after curfew.

The scene when I arrived was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Rogue, in her nightgown, was touching Logan, who was only half-dressed. Had some intimate encounter between them gone wrong?

I'm no telepath, but I am a keen observer of my surroundings. There was no anger in the room, only fear, regret, and death. She was killing him somehow, and from the vanishing wounds on her back, I suspect he had harmed her first.

But again, there were only the feelings of dread and horror that accompany a terrible accident, and none of the hatred and anger that usually mark an intentional act of violence.

Rogue pulled her hand away and Logan collapsed.

Jean was right there, with Scott helping her.

Rogue turned to me, her eyes full of fear and something else I couldn't quite identify.

"It was an accident," she said

I understood what that was like -- to be feared and hated because you are different due to circumstances beyond your control. I felt such compassion for her, but I couldn't find my voice before she fled the room. The children parted to let her through. There was fear among them, as well.

I resolved to talk to her the next day, to reassure her that she wouldn't be turned out, that she still had a place here at the school. I know that is what Charles wants and with a quick glance, I know that Scott and Jean agree.

"Everyone go back to bed," I said, finally snapping out of my reverie. We still had classes in the morning, and Jean had everything under control.

There was much muttering and some eye-rolling, but they began moving down the hall. I saw the concerned look on Bobby's face -- I could tell he was already quite taken with Rogue -- and I decided to have a little chat with him, too. He's been here for seven years -- the longest of the students -- and he is the perfect one to help Rogue feel more comfortable.

Once the children were gone, Jean turned to me. "He's going to be okay," she said, indicating Logan. "It *was* an accident."

I nodded. "I will talk with her tomorrow, let her know that everything is all right."

"I think we all should," Scott said, and I know he understood her predicament as well as, if not better than, I do. He knows how having a power that can kill if you're not constantly vigilant is wearing on both body and spirit.

Charles arrived and I went back to my room, already formulating what I would say to the children in the morning.

This was a traumatic experience for both Rogue and Logan, especially coming right after their encounter with Sabretooth. But I am sure that, with guidance from us, everything will work out for the best.

**{Jubilee}**

Omigod! If I'm stuck rooming with her, I'll have to remember not to piss her off.

**{Bobby}**

I was lying in bed, thinking that dinner went pretty well. I like the new girl, Rogue. I like her a lot. I think she might like me back. She agreed to sit with me at dinner, and let me show her around and all.

I might not be as flashy as Johnny, with his fancy accent, but I'm pretty damn fun, if I do say so myself.

So there I am, making plans to ask Rogue to sit with me at lunch tomorrow, maybe outside, away from everybody else, when I hear this roar, and then someone yells, "Somebody help me!"

We all jump up and rush down the hall. Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey were there already.

It's Rogue -- she's in that guy's room -- the one they brought back with her. Shit. No way I can compete with this guy -- look at him!

And what is she doing to him? What did he do to her? It's like she's got these three stab marks on her back, and they're just closing up like they'd never been there. It looked like one of those nature specials where they speed up the time-lapse photography. And the veins on both of them are popping out, like they've done too much speed or are strung out on crack.

She pulls her hand away and he falls to the floor.

"It was an accident," she says, and then she runs away. Hell, I'd run, too. There's no knowing how Mr. Summers will react to her being in the strange guy's room this late at night.

I watch after her as she goes, and I wonder if I should follow -- tell her that it's okay, we've all screwed up with our powers. I could tell her about the time I accidentally froze the escalator at the mall, or when I froze my chem. final and Hank had to let me take it over, since the test was destroyed, even after it dried out.

Looks like the strange guy is going to be okay -- Dr. Grey's a good doctor.

Ms. Munroe is sending us all back to our rooms. I know I'm probably not going to sleep the rest of the night. Everybody's talking about what happened, and how freaky Rogue is. I just want to go see if she's all right.

**{Xavier}**

I arrive in Logan's room just as Ororo sends the children back to their rooms. Jean is monitoring Logan's vital signs, and with a quick brush of her mind against mine, she informs me of all that has happened.

Once we are assured that he is going to be all right, I settle myself at Logan's bedside and send Jean and Scott to bed. They need their rest as much as everyone else does.

"Logan, you are a mystery," I mutter, gently easing myself into his mind to confirm Jean's diagnosis that no damage had been done. I am slightly stunned by the welter of emotions and images that assault me. Chief among them is self-loathing, fear of what may happen to Rogue, and a sudden strong desire to live, where I had not sensed the latter before. I pull out, not wishing to intrude for any longer than necessary.

Rogue's gift is quite intriguing. She might be a touch-telepath, so acutely attuned to others that she absorbs the energy and memories of the people she touches. It will be a great challenge to see if we can teach her to control it. Otherwise, I fear she will isolate herself, even from us, and that is a horrible fate for such a promising young woman.

After several hours, Logan wakes. His first thought is of Rogue, which I can only consider a good sign. 

This man, who has been so grievously wronged and, as a result, shut himself off from the world, has already come to care for the untouchable girl. I have high hopes for both of them.

He asks what happened, and I begin to explain.

**{Logan}**

You're not gonna get me again, you bastards!

I let out a roar as I lunge at the assholes who were working on me. Bastards! How do you like the claws now, eh?

A gasp.

A feminine gasp.

Shit. Suddenly, I realize where I am.

Oh, God, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not the girl, not Marie.

I slide the claws in and she stumbles away. The look in her eyes -- she's dying. I've killed her. That's all I am -- a killer.

"Help!" I try to shout, but I can't quite manage it. "Somebody, help me!" That was louder. That should bring the tightass and the doctor. God, I hope she's a good doctor, because the kid -- the kid's not gonna make it. I've seen that look before. I've heard that sound a million times -- that death rattle. I put the blades right through her chest. She's dead, even as she's standing in front of me.

She looks like some kind of angel, all in white, with that dark hair and those full lips and her eyes -- her dark, deep velvet eyes that are staring at me. I've killed her, and she knows it. Those eyes shine, forgiving me even this, the worst of sins.

She reaches out, and I whisper, "No." I don't know why. I don't know what happens when she touches people -- she just said they get hurt. I don't know if I'm saying no to her touching me, her forgiving me, or in some kind of crazy denial of what I've done to her.

Her fingertips graze my cheek, and they're soft, so soft, like she is. And then there's a feeling like fire all along my veins -- as though I'm being burned from the inside out, and I can feel everything in me pouring into her. I watch as her eyes widen. 

She is death. She is what I've been looking for these past fifteen years, and now that I've found her, I don't want to leave her.

I watch as the wounds close up. I know that other people are staring now, I can hear the racing heartbeats, smell the stink of fear filling the room.

Then everything goes black.

When I wake up, Wheels is sitting next to me. 

"Logan," he says.

"What happened?" I'm a little blurry on the details, though I'll never forget the sight of Marie on the end of my claws. "Is she all right?" I need to know. I need to make sure that she's all right, that I didn't kill what might have been my one shot at humanity.

"She'll be all right."

"What did she do to me?" I'm weak as a newborn kitten. I can't remember the last time I felt this way -- of course, there's a lot of shit I can't remember, so that doesn't mean much.

"Whenever Rogue touches someone, she takes their energy, their life force. In the case of mutants, she absorbs their gifts for a short while. In your case, your ability to heal," he explains.

Absorbs their life force? Like some kind of vampire? Jesus.

"Oh. I feel like she almost killed me." And while yesterday I'd have welcomed death, after staring it in the face, I didn't want it anymore. She showed me that, and I'm grateful.

"If she'd held on any longer," Chuck is saying, "she could have." He shuts up and we sit there for a while in silence. That's okay by me.

Who'd have believed the mighty Wolverine could get taken out by a girl? Not that I haven't seen some kickass chick fighters, 'cause I have, but Marie -- she's a tiny, little thing. Probably no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. And so soft and sweet -- she really is. 

Get a grip, bub. You can't think of her like that. It's bad enough they're all probably wondering what the hell she was doing in my room in the middle of the night. I know what old One-Eye is thinking. Before I saw her in that nightgown, I would have laughed at him and felt comfortable, knowing I never would have looked at her and imagined her in bed with me. She's too young -- young women are a lot more trouble than older ones. They have dreams and expectations -- shit a man like me ain't prepared to deal with. But Marie -- it might be worth getting to know her, sticking around to see what kind of woman she grows up to be. 

If she'll even have anything to do with me after this.

I have to talk to her -- explain, apologize -- something.

Shit. I killed her. If she hadn't had that life-sucking skin, she'd be dead, and I might as well have been dead, too.

I have to make it up to her. I know that with this healing factor, I'm not going to age like other people. That means I can be in Marie's life for a long time to come, looking after her. I owe her at least that. If anything else happens, well, I'll deal with it when it comes.

Things are looking up, I think, and I can feel myself drifting off to sleep again. I'll talk to her later. Things are definitely looking up.

END

  
**Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and/or Fox. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on their copyright.**

   [1]: mailto:shoe715@yahoo.com



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